Lost Innocence
by Kameka
Summary: In one of the episodes, Lana told a bit about her life and how she became a prostitute. This is an exploration of the first year after her father died. Please read and abide by the warnings!


**Title**: Lost Innocence

**Rating**: WARNING: please remember that this is a story about a child prostitute. It isn't truly explicit by any means, but it may be disturbing to some. According to the site: This fic has strong non-explicit adult themes & violence.

**You have been warned!**

**Disclaimer**: All standard disclaimers apply. The characters are not mine (unless they are original) and I have made absolutely no money for this story.

**Notes**: I don't watch much Strong Medicine, really, unless I'm awake and don't want to be on the computer at 1:30 in the morning, which is when it comes on right now. One night, I saw an episode where Dr. Jackson went to "Johns School" for people who pick up prostitutes, and Lana was one of the lecturers. Well, I liked Lana's story but there were no real details… so this came about. As usual, this has been spelling-and-grammar checked but is unbeta'd. Any mistakes (hopefully not many) are my own.

I started this story a few weeks ago.. but finished it while sick. Chances are, I was running around a 102 temp when I wrote the last page or so. Hopefully it makes sense!

Hope you enjoy! **Additional notes can be found at the bottom of the story.**

**Summary**: Lana told a bit about her former life as a prostitute at the Johns School. This is an exploration of some of the first year. Please abide by the warnings in the rating section.

**StrongMedicine.StrongMedicine.StrongMedicine.StrongMedicine.StrongMedicine.StrongMedicine**

It was a warm and sunny day in the late 1960s, a nice breeze cooling the people standing underneath the hot sun. It was a day for picnics and kids playing tag, a day for playing in water spouting from fire hydrants and sunbathing on the roofs of buildings. It was a slap in the face to the black-clad mourners gathered by Bobby Hawkins' grave.

The priest stood at the head of the flower-draped casket, an open bible in his hands as he spoke of a man's soul reaching its' ultimate home in Heaven by Jesus' side. He told of Bobby's life spent reaching out towards those who were less fortunate than he, always willing to help no matter how little he had did. He continued on to tell of a man who put his family first, who took care of them no matter what trials he had to face himself; a man who gave his best, his all, and, ultimately, his life for what he believed was right.

He lowered his voice and, in a graveled whisper that nevertheless reached the farthest mourner, reminded the people gathered of the Hope their deceased friend and family member held deeply within his heart; hope that he held for his friends, his family, and all of mankind.

They were just words… but they were words that bespoke of an entire lifetime, of lessons learned through hardship and passed on to the younger generation. They were words that touched the hearts of those who truly knew Bobby Hawkins, that brought forth half-forgotten memories as they wound their way through the mazes of the mind.

They were words that caused his widow to begin crying in earnest, into the handkerchief she was holding near her face. It was the same one that Bobby had carried to and from work every single day. Her children were clustered around her: oldest son standing rigid in his suit, another teenager looking uncomfortable in his own, three smaller children, each under the age of ten, uncommonly quiet as they held hands. There was a teenage girl standing slightly apart from the small group, dark brown eyes sober as her gaze alternated between the casket holding her father's body and her family.

She alone knew the fears that had been running through their mother's mind since the officer had come to the front door and told them about Bobby's death as he fought a mugger. Sarah Hawkins had been blind-sided by the unexpected death, wondering how the family would survive now. She knew that she couldn't raise five children on a maid's salary – it always took every penny from both salaries and sometimes beyond that. She would have to get a second job herself… but then who would take care of the children?

Sarah had confided in Lana, a confidence that she hadn't expressed to her two oldest sons for reasons unknown to the teenage girl. Maybe it was because Lana had been helping her mother with cooking dinner and folding laundry. It helped to have someone there when you broke down. Maybe it was because Sarah had just had to talk to _someone_… and Lana had always been there, willing to lend a helping hand as her father had taught her. Maybe it was because Lana had a good head on her shoulders while her older brothers had always lived with their heads in the clouds.

For whatever reason, Sarah _had_ picked Lana. That fact alone made the girl very conscious of the fact that she had been chosen to help out her family. He brothers would, too, once they understood what happened. But Lana had to from the beginning.

The funeral ended with a prayer, Sarah receiving a flower plucked from the arrangement on top of the casket, and almost everybody went back to the house that the Hawkins family lived in. The younger children, Hawkins and those from the rest of the neighborhood, wandered through rooms filled to bursting with teary-faced adults, their faces solemn as they listened to snatches of stories and promises. Soon after, they scattered to play outside, even the grim specter of death not combating the irrepressible joy of childhood for very long. The days ahead would have the knowledge sinking in as it hadn't yet, but for now their voices raised in laughter and shouts; filtering in through the windows and serving as reminders for all of the occupants that could hear them.

The two older boys had mingled as their mother had wanted them to do, wanting to provide some sort of stabilizing influence and letting Sarah know that she wasn't alone as she faced this. Even their grief got the best of them: they shared a single look and vanished upstairs.

Lana, from her place sitting on the floor against the piano, could only guess that they would be heading to the bedroom they shared with the other boys, intending to climb through the window and seek solace on the roof of the building. It had been the site of many late nights with comic books, secret conversations, and brotherly bonding as one or the other struggled over the problems teenage life threw their way. Lana was just fine right where she was, her back flat against the ancient wooden side of the piano her father had played whenever he had a chance.

If she closed her eyes, she could still feel the vibrations running through her body as the instrument shook in response to her father's magic fingers, could still hear the sweet notes that rang through the house in accompaniment of her mother's singing. He had even taught her to play some simple songs, one long, cold winter that had seen the family doing very little else besides work, school, and church.

One of her earliest memories was of the radio blasting and her parents dancing in the kitchen, Sarah's laughing protests as she tried to cook dinner. Bobby had turned around and snatched up Lana, then the baby of the family, and swung her around the kitchen, his dark face creasing as white teeth gleamed in a smile. Another that stood out was from just the year before, Bobby patiently playing as Lana, from her place against the piano, practiced her scales and the choir songs that she needed to learn.

She knew without a doubt that her memories of her father would always be entwined with music. There were others… but these were the ones that would keep him alive in her mind, show her his smiles and laughter.

She was jostled slightly and looked up to find one of her aunts looking down at her with disapproval.

"Girl, what are you doin' on the floor? Get up before you ruin your dress!"

Lana had started to move and do just that when her mother intervened, a thin hand reaching out to touch her aunt's arm. "Leave the child alone," her mother spoke, weariness and grief lacing her tone.

"She's goin' to ruin her dress, Sarah," was immediately shot back, along with another disapproving glance in Lana's direction.

"Bobby always played the piano for her," Sarah explained patiently to Bobby's older sister. "This is a day for grievin' and for tryin' to feel close to him. Sittin' there is how she does that."

"She's old enough to know better than to sit on the floor in a house full of company, Sarah. Land sakes, she's not a child anymore, she's a young woman!"

Lana watched as her mother shook her head and clenched one hand around the white handkerchief she held.

"She may be a young woman, Irene, but she's still my baby, a child who's missin' her daddy. Leave her be."

With wide eyes, Lana watched as her Aunt Irene followed her mother's directive, head shaking like a pendulum in disapproval as she turned on her heel and stalked to the other side of the room, black fabric swaying with the rolling motion of her ample hips. She started at the touch on her shoulder, swinging her head to look at her mother crouched down next to her. Immediately, she could feel the comforting touch of her mother's hand running through dark hair. "Stay here as long as you want, okay, baby girl?"

"I'm not a baby girl anymore. I'm a young lady, right, Mama?"

She nodded, dark eyes liquid with unshed tears. "Yeah… but you're still my baby girl, still your daddy's baby girl. Nothing'll ever change that."

She chewed on her bottom lip for a long moment. "What are we goin' to do, Mama?" She watched as the older woman shook her head sadly.

"I don't know, baby girl, but we'll figure something out."

"I'm going to help."

Sarah smiled and hugged Lana to her, kissing her on a smooth-skinned cheek. "I know you will, Lana. I don't have any worries on that score."

A woman's voice rang out above the natural din that came from a large group of people, calling for Sarah to come into the kitchen for one reason or another. Sarah touched Lana's hair one more time before standing up straight and leaving Lana on the floor. A finger still coming into its' adult slenderness traced the worn pattern on the rug next to her as dark eyes watched the milling people.

"I'm going to help Mama, Daddy," she whispered, tears coming to her eyes. "Don't you worry about that."

The rest of the day was much the same. Containers of food were being taken to the kitchen, offerings so that the grief-stricken widow wouldn't have to worry about feeding her children for a few days at least. The younger children came inside, went back outside, and so on, never staying in one place for very long. Lana's older brothers eventually came back downstairs, faces as solemn as when they had gone up, but a lighter air about them.

The next few weeks passed in a blur of disbelief, grief, anger, and depression as the entire Hawkins family continued on in their daily lives with only one major, gaping difference. To Lana's surprise, it actually seemed… normal, except for the fact that her father wasn't there. She would sometimes find Sarah staring at the wedding photo on the mantle, or she would go running to another room, ready to fling herself onto her father's lap as she told him the latest exciting thing that had happened to her. She stopped herself each time; if a bit late, reminding herself that she couldn't just run into the next room. Even her siblings continued as if life hadn't changed; though she had overheard Aunt Irene saying that the youngest probably wouldn't remember Bobby very much.

It made no sense to Lana. He'd been their father. He'd been this great big guiding presence in all of their lives. How could they forget him?

Lana herself spoke to Bobby nightly, including him in her prayers and then spending close to an hour in the dark, just staring up at the empty ceiling as she whispered everything that he just needed to know. She remembered what the preacher had said, about how people who died didn't really become angels like most people thought. He'd said that angels were born to be angels and men were born to be men. So she didn't picture Bobby sitting on a cloud with wings and a harp. But she did think that the angels took care of the souls those who'd died, so the angels were watching out for her daddy, same way her mama said they watched out for her. If he couldn't hear her direct, then maybe, just maybe, they'd pass her messages on so Bobby would know he wasn't forgotten.

She also didn't forget her promise to him that she was going to help take care of Sarah and the others. She knew that if he were here, he'd shake his head and laugh that big, booming laugh as he told her she was his little baby girl and she didn't need to take care of anyone. But she also knew that if he were here, she wouldn't have to worry about it.

She'd tried hard to get a job just like she'd heard her Mama mentioning to her older brothers. She'd gone to all of the neighborhood stores asking. Every single person had looked at her with pity, explaining that she couldn't work there since she was too young. Since she'd promised she'd work hard, learn fast, and do whatever they'd wanted, she didn't quite understand the problem. Hadn't she been told stories about kids who were only ten, working? Well, she was older than that and she had to work now!

After days of absolutely no luck, she sat dejectedly on the curb of a street outside her normal Philadelphia neighborhood, fingering her hair as she stared down at the gray paved street, cars passing her by quickly.

"You look lost, little girl."

She looked up to find a man wearing an off-the-rack suit staring down at her. "I'm not lost," she informed him. "I know just where I am," she informed him with a look of superiority only found in the young.

Ignoring the frostiness apparent in her tone, he shrugged slightly and sat down next to her. "You also look worried about something."

Having been taught by her parents not to talk to strangers, Lana's bottom lip trembled and she bit down on it. He waited by her side, not talking, looking at her, or in any way putting pressure on her. After a few long moments, Lana finally sighed. "I need to find a job," she told him.

"A small fry like you?" He laughed and shook his head, ignoring the glare she cast his way. "What do you need a job for? Comic books?"

"My daddy died last month and I need to get a job to make money and help. But no place will hire me!" she wailed, looking accusingly at the storefront behind them, the latest place to turn down the young job seeker. "They all say I'm too young and I should be in school."

"You don't think you should be?"

"I know school is important! Mama and Daddy always say so. But isn't working for money important too?" As if suddenly aware of just who she was talking to – or not knowing who she was talking to, Lana bit her bottom lip again and pulled back away from him. She hadn't meant to blurt all that out; she really did know better than to talk to strangers. But she couldn't talk to anyone in her family about this, and her best friend Chandrelle had her own problems: she couldn't sit and listen to Lana all the time!

"Hey, don't worry, small fry. You won't get in trouble talkin' to me."

"I…" Lana stood up quickly and wiped off her skirt. "I should be getting home," she said in a rush, already turning to take flight.

HE rose in one fluid motion, a restraining hand on her arm stopping her and causing Lana to look up at him with wide eyes, uncertainty and fear sparking in them. "Hold on, small fry. I ain't gonna hurt you," he promised. "What if you come to work for me?"

"Work for you?" Lana looked him up and down, doubt clear in her features. "What do you do?"

"That's not important," he laughed easily. "What's important is what you can do for me."

"And what can a girl like me do for someone like you? Everyone else says that I'm too young."

"Nothing bad," he promised, letting go of her arm and holding up both hands in front of him. "I have a house over on 52nd Street," he explained. "How would you like a job coming by there and cleaning up after school? IT won't be anything hard," he promised. "Just sweeping the floor, dusting… Making sure the kitchen is clean."

"Like a maid," Lana mused.

"Yeah, just like a maid. You wouldn't even have to do windows," he joked. "There may be some babysittin', too. You can bring your homework with you and do it there. I'll even help you with it if you get stuck."

"You'll let me do my homework… help me… and still pay me for it?"

He shrugged and grinned. "Sure. You're a small fry with a heavy load on your shoulders. Why shouldn't I help you if I can?"

She looked up at him before looking down at the street, still undecided.

"Listen, small fry, it's the red place on 52nd, by the dry cleaners. My name's Johnny. If you're interested in the job… show up after school in the next few days, okay? Just ask for me." He pressed a piece of paper into her hand and gave another easy grin before turning and loping across the street to the accompaniment of blaring horns.

Lana stared down at the paper in indecision before shrugging and tucking it into one of her socks before turning herself and running all the way home. She had to help Sarah cook dinner tonight, as she did every night. A newly familiar sight greeted her when she arrived home, breathless and face shiny from exertion.

Sarah Hawkins was sitting at the chipped tile-topped table; elbows on the table and shoulders slumped as her bowed head rested in one hand. Open letters were scattered in front of her, sheaves of paper stacked haphazardly as she wrote neat columns of numbers onto a tablet of paper.

"Mama?" Lana ventured further into the kitchen, one hand coming up to rest on her mother's shoulder.

Sarah turned and gave a gentle smile. "Hey, baby girl, how was your day?"

Lana looked at the papers in front of them with dark eyes, lifting one foot up to rest on the chair as she absently scratched at her ankle. The itch was located directly over the piece of paper that suited man had given her earlier. "Good, Mama. I think I may've found some work."

Sarah turned and pulled Lana closer to her, the younger girl's body fitting easily against her mother's body. "Lana, I don't want you worrying about things like money," Sarah admonished.

"But I wanna help, Mama," Lana argued. "And it's nothing big," she promised. "Just going over and babysitting a couple of days every week."

"Babysitting?" Sarah laughed. "Baby girl, if you want to baby-sit, you can stay home!"

"There may be some cleaning too," she admitted quietly. "Nothing big; just some dusting. And they said I could bring my homework and do it there. They'll even help if I need it!"

Sarah shook her head, looking at the burgeoning excitement in her daughter's eyes.

"Please, Mama? It won't be very long. I'll come straight home and help you out just like always. I'll watch the others and we can cook dinner together."

Sarah started to automatically say no before the papers she had been going over for the last hour. It had only been a calendar month, but already the bills were piling up. "Honey, I don't want you to think you have to work just so you can give me all your money."

"I don't! I _want_ to do this," she assured Sarah earnestly. "I'll even keep some of the money, saving it up, if you want." It wasn't exactly a lie. She might keep a little of the money, but she'd been planning from the start to give basically everything to her mother.

"Well, looks like you got yourself a job." She ran a hand through dark hair and then down soft skin. "You're growin' up fast, baby girl." The statement was soft, sadness apparent.

"I'm still your baby girl, Mama. Nothing'll ever change that," she promised.

"I know, honey." Sarah looked around the kitchen and sighed. "Come on, let's get dinner started." She stood up and gathered the papers as Lana wandered over to the refrigerator and began pulling ingredients out.

Dinner that night was strained, Lana's older brothers looking accusingly at her when Sarah revealed that Lana had found a job babysitting. Lana squirmed under the look, her ears ringing from past arguments about the boys getting jobs. It wasn't her fault that she'd been chosen to help before they had been. The rest of the night was frosty, as frosty as it can get in a family with so many people in it.

The next Monday, she stood on 52nd Street, her bag heavy on her back as she stared up at the faded red building. She had spent all the time between that day and this one wondering if doing this was the right thing. Chandrelle had argued that if she had to work, this was great. He was willing to let her be there when she wanted. He'd help her with homework, something that Chandrelle herself didn't care about very much but knew was important to Lana. He'd pay her cash. Lana, though… Lana knew something was a little strange. He'd been willing to hire her when no one else would, he'd approached her on the street, and he just seemed _too_ charming, like those men in the movies.

It all boiled down to the fact that Lana needed to work… and Johnny was willing to hire her to do some cleaning.

"It's as simple as that," she muttered, squaring her shoulders and taking the steps up to the front door. She took a deep breath and knocked, trying real hard to look like the confident young woman her Mama had been calling her and not the scared little girl she felt like. She could hear the doorbell echoing in the house beyond the heavy door and yellow curtains shifted slightly before the door was flung open to reveal a smiling Johnny. Lana took an automatic step backwards before smiling back.

"Small fry!"

"Hi, Johnny," she answered somewhat shyly.

"Don't just stand there on the stoop! Come in! Come in!" He stepped back and swept one arm around the room in a grand gesture that she'd seen princes and gentlemen do in the movies. She took the invitation, moving slowly into the building. She looked around with interest, wide eyes taking in peak-condition furniture on a worn rug. The yellow curtains had actually been white, she noticed through the dimness, some of the original color still visible in spots. The walls were a stained pea soup green and there were only a few pictures on them. Nothing family-oriented, just pictures.

All in all, she decided it looked like what her brothers would live in if they didn't have Sarah or Lana to pick up after them. Looks like her Daddy had been right when he said men may buy the house, but it's the women who make it a home.

"It's a bit of a mess," Johnny admitted with a sheepish chuckle. "But that's why I asked you to come here, right?"

Lana nodded, wondering just where she would begin.

"Before you start, though, there are some ground rules we gotta go over, okay?"

She looked at him with wide eyes, wondering if this is when the ball would drop. If something was too good to be true, it usually was.

"You have to do your homework, okay? No slipping grades or anything like that. Now, I'm not askin' to see your report card, but I expect you to be honest with me. You can spend the first hour here doing your homework. I'll be around then, so I can help you out if you need it, but I won't bother you if you don't. You'll get paid for that hour, so don't worry about that."

Lana nodded, unable to speak.

"A few hours on weekdays is enough. I don't want you staying too late and making your family worry about you. If you do stay late, I'll give you money for the bus or a cab so you can get home safely."

"Anything else?"

"Don't go upstairs no matter what, you got that, small fry?" At her nod, Johnny squatted down so that Lana was slightly taller than he was

"Yeah, one more thing. I want you to be comfortable here, okay? You can come to me with anything."

Lana chewed on her lower lip again, a habit she had acquired when she'd first started school. "Okay," she finally said, putting her bag down and beginning to look around with more interest. As she was fingering a stack of magazines, the door opened and slammed shut to reveal a woman striding through the room on impossibly high heels. With nothing but a disdainful glance towards Lana, she went upstairs. Unsure, Lana looked over at Johnny, who had been watching her indulgently. "Don't worry about her, small fry."

Nodding silently, Lana continued her appraisal. When she would have rolled up her sleeves to start working, Johnny reminded her with a nudge to the bag she had set down of the rules. Nodding, she went and began to work on her homework, it coming easily to her bright mind.

Her days began to follow a pattern. She would wake up, help her mother with her younger siblings, and then go to school. From there she went to her babysitting job, having still not told her mother the truth. Now comfortable in that place, she made herself at home and spent the first hour doing at least half of her homework. Some days Chandrelle joined her, ignoring the edict to do homework and choosing to lounge on one of the sofas and flip through magazines.

Lana pointedly ignored most of the comings and goings as she concentrated on her cleaning. Some of them were okay; women who smiled at her and always had a kind word. There had even been a few men, people who looked at her with wide, disbelieving eyes filled with guilt before slinking up to the second floor of the house.

She never went up there, staying on the first floor. She had to admit a certain amount of curiosity, as anyone who had been told not to do something would have felt… but she never gave into it. Chandrelle kept telling her to; it wasn't like Johnny was always watching her like a hawk! But Lana just couldn't make herself do it no matter how curious she was. Johnny had been good to her. He'd given her a job and he was nice and understanding. She couldn't pay him back by being a sneak!

After close to a month, Johnny came and sat down at the kitchen table where she was doing her homework. She liked the kitchen best out of all of the rooms and spent as much time as possible there. So used to Johnny's company during her homework hour, she didn't even look up for a long minute, wanting to finish what she was doing. When she did, Johnny smiled and pushed a plate of store-bought cookies towards her. She reached out and grabbed one to nibble on. They were chocolate-chip, her favorite, though they weren't as good as Sarah Hawkins made.

"Thanks."

"No problem, small fry."

Lana giggled slightly at the nickname. It had annoyed her at the beginning. She wasn't a small fry; she was a young lady. Her Mama had told her so. But he'd stubbornly stuck to it even after she'd introduced herself properly. After a month spent in his employ, seeing him almost every day, it was more like a nickname now, a term of endearment. Almost like her Mama calling her 'baby girl' or the way her Daddy had called her 'honey sweet.'

"You likin' workin' here, small fry?"

Lana nodded her mouth full of cookie. Swallowing quickly, she washed it down with a long gulp of milk. "I love it, Johnny!" After a moment, her eyes widened. "You want me to keep comin' in, right? You're not thinkin' 'bout changing something?"

"Well, I want you to keep coming in, small fry, but I wanted to talk to you."

"Did I do something wrong?" She shook her head frantically. "I didn't mean to! I'll do better, Johnny, I promise!"

"You didn't do anything wrong," he laughed. "I just wanted to talk to you about money."

"Money?" Worry was clear on her young features as she looked down at the table. "I… I don't think it'd be a good thing if you took away some of my money, Johnny," she admitted quietly.

"I'm not takin' anything away, small fry! I was just wonderin' how your Mama was doing."

"My mama?" Lana shook her head, slightly confused by this turn of events. Never before had Johnny expressed any interest in her mother or siblings other than to ask if she had any brothers or sisters. If she were honest, she'd admit that's one reason she liked him. She wasn't little Lana Hawkins, daughter of Bobby and Sarah, little sister of Darryl and Anton. She was just… Lana. Small fry. "Why do you want to know about her?"

"I remembered you were lookin' for work because of your father dyin' and I was wondering how your family's doing without him there."

"We're doin' okay," she assured him. It wasn't exactly the truth, but she'd been taught not to talk about the family's problems to people who weren't actually in the family. Spreading dirty laundry, her parents had called it. So she was careful not to tell too much to anyone who asked, teachers especially. She told Chandrelle everything, of course, but that's because she's Lana's best friend. You can tell best friends anything at all and you won't get in trouble. It's one of the rules.

"So the money you've been givin' her has been helping."

Lana thought about it for a long minute, remembering the weird expression that had been on her mother's face the first time Lana had handed her a paper envelope filled with cash. Shame and pride had mingled, dark eyes wet with tears as a shaking hand had reached out to accept the envelope. It was the same every time, though Lana had started to notice that the shame was lessening, leaving only pride brimming in the dark eyes. She'd also noticed that the weariness that had been bowing her mother's shoulders had lessened, the woman seeming freer than she had just after Bobby's death. It was due in part to her older brothers also finding work, but Lana knew that her contribution was helping, too.

"Yeah, Johnny, it's been helping," she finally answered with a nod.

"So you're makin' enough? You don't need more money to help her out?"

"More money?" Sarah's shoulders weren't slumped as much, but the lines of strain were still visible on the teak skin. She could hear her sitting up at night as she went through sheaves of paper and bills that came in. She'd even snuck down and sat on the stairs and listened as Sarah had talked aloud to Bobby as she sorted through everything and tried to figure out which bills didn't have to be paid right away since she didn't have the money. Lana was helping… but Sarah could use a lot more help!

"Yeah, small fry, more money."

"For doin' the same work?"

"Well," he hesitated and looked away, making a face, "see, I can't pay you any more for the work you're already doin', small fry. But you can work a different way. You can make twice as much money without having to do as much work."

"Twice the money for less work?" Even though she knew the phrase 'too good to be true' that sounded great. She wouldn't admit it to anyone, but she'd been getting real tired lately.

"Yeah. You see…" he hesitated and stopped, obviously trying to figure out just how to say what he wanted without scaring the girl off. "It's companionship," he finally settled on. "People will pay you to hang out with them for an hour."

"Hang out?"

"Yeah, you know, like we do! They may want to hug you," he elaborated, tweaking her nose between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand, "because you're so darn cute."

"Twice the money for hanging out and hugging." She thought it over for a long minute before nodding. "I can do that!"

"Great! When would you like to start, small fry?"

"Next week?" she ventured. "That way we can finish out this week the way we have been." Lana had been keeping a log of all the hours she worked in a small notebook: carefully tallying up the amount of money Johnny owed her on Sunday night, Johnny having decided he would pay her on Mondays. A change in how she was paid would just mess up the notebook.

"Sure thing, small fry." He looked at the gold watch on his wrist and rose, putting his glass of milk in the sink. "I better get goin', I have work to do."

"Okay, Johnny." He had already begun to leave the kitchen when she called him back, causing him to turn and look at her with the same smile he always used. "Thanks."

"No sweat, small fry."

The rest of the week, her fourth week working for him, passed much the same as the first three. She'd told Chandrelle about the change she and Johnny had talked about and her best friend was jealous but skeptical. She hadn't gone into details, knowing that Chandrelle was having problems of her own.

Chandrelle had been complaining all week about her stepfather being out of jail again. Chandrelle was never in a good mood when he was in the house. She kept complaining to Lana that he touched her, but refused to tell her own mother. He'd told her that he'd say it was all Chandrelle's fault, and a part of her thought that Edna would believe him. She kept taking him back again and again. Lana argued that Edna wouldn't believe him over her daughter, but Chandrelle didn't want to find out if she was right or wrong.

Lana hadn't told of the change to Sarah, not wanting to worry the woman. Babysitting was something every girl did sooner or later. She didn't like the fact that she hadn't met the family (Lana not having told her it was a single man) that employed her daughter for babysitting, but Sarah was willing to let that go. If Lana told her about this, though, she'd be demanding to meet the people employing her baby girl.

The following Monday, she once again stood on the sidewalk looking up at the faded red building on 52nd Street, butterflies flitting about in her stomach. She hadn't felt like this since the first time she'd stood here, something that made her grimace. As she had a month ago, she squared her shoulders under the heavy weight of her bag and walked up the steps to the front door. This time, instead of waiting to be let in, she turned the knob and entered the house with confidence, assured that she could handle whatever came her way.

She settled down at the kitchen table to do her homework like always, looking up when Johnny came in. "Hey, you don't have to do that today," he told her.

"But you said I had to every day," she protested.

"I know, but that was when you were cleaning for working. You don't have to now."

"I don't?"

"Nope." He flashed a quick grin and picked up her bag. "Come on, small fry. I've got something to show you."

She obediently followed him through the house and, her heart jumped, up the stairs to the forbidden second floor. She looked around with excitement, not sure what she'd been expecting to see, but was disappointed by the series of closed doors, each painted with a dull gold knob. Even the wallpaper was faded, showing none of the care and money Johnny had put into the downstairs. Johnny stopped in front of one of them, the one furthest from the stairs at the end of the hall. "You ready?"

Lana nodded, gasping when he opened the door with a flourish. The room beyond the faded white door was nothing like what she'd expected from the hallway. The walls were decorated with floral wallpaper: white with red, pink, and yellow roses scattered in bunches here and there. A dresser sat to one side of the room, pristine white with little flowers stenciled onto the drawers and a mirror sitting on top. Next to the mirror was a teddy bear obviously gotten from the Salvation Army and a doll with long ragged hair wearing a checked dress, dark plastic face wreathed in smiles. In the center of the room was a double bed, much bigger than the one Lana had at home. It had a pretty quilt on it, a patchwork one that was predominantly yellow and white with some patches of pink flowers, and there was a headboard and matching footboard made of gleaming white metal.

It was every little girl's fantasy bedroom, fit for a princess.

Johnny, having watched the expressions that flitted across Lana's face, grinned. "You like it?"

"Oh, Johnny, it's beautiful!"

"It's all yours," he told her, gesturing her inside.

"Mine?" Her excitement dampened as she looked around the room. "But I live with my Mama, Johnny. I don't need a room to sleep here at your house."

"Remember how you're staring the new job today? I thought you might like some privacy when you're hangin' out with the people."

"But this is a bedroom, Johnny! I can't even hang out with people except Chandrelle in my room at home."

Johnny laughed easily, tweaking her nose. "What else would you expect upstairs at a house? A kitchen?"

Lana laughed, letting go of most of the uneasiness that made the butterflies fly even faster in her stomach. She watched as Johnny moved through the room and stowed Lana's bag next to the dresser, putting the schoolbook and notebook on top of it. "This almost feels like a real little girl's room, doesn't it?"

"It really does, Johnny."

"And it's all yours," he promised, bending down to give her a kiss on the cheek. It was the first time he'd ever gotten that close to her, usually just touching her hair briefly or tweaking her nose like Bobby used to. He left, then, wanting Lana to get comfortable in the room she'd be working in now. As soon as the door was closed behind him, Lana raced over to the dresser and pulled open the drawers only to sigh in disappointment when she discovered that all of them were empty. Closing them quietly, she wandered from one side to the other, fingers prodding random things. The wallpaper still had the stiffness of being new, the comforter baby soft. There was even a bedside table with a drawer holding a bottle of lotion that smelled vanilla sweet and baby powder.

Unable to help herself, she finally flung herself on the bed and looked up at the ceiling laughing. Chandrelle wasn't going to believe it when Lana told her about this bedroom!

It was nearly twenty minutes later when there was a knock on the bedroom door. She sat up and looked at it, wondering just who it was. The door swung open to reveal a man as sharply dressed as Johnny usually was. He let himself in, closing the door behind him. "Johnny sent me up," he explained with a slight smile.

"Oh! You want to hang out," Lana nodded to herself.

"Yeah," he answered, bemused. "I want to hang out."

Lana scooted up to the head of the bed, careful so her shoes didn't get the quilt dirty, and patted the mattress next to her. The man sat down stiffly, taking his hat off his head to hold it in his hands. Noting the discomfort, Lana wracked her brain to try and figure out how to make him more at ease. This was the first person Johnny had sent up to her to hang out and she wanted to do it right. "Do you feel like a hug?" she finally offered, not knowing what else to do. She wasn't supposed to hug strange men, but Johnny had sent him up, so she figured that he was safe.

"You know something? I think I would like a hug."

Lana smiled and moved closer to him, getting up on her knees and wrapping her arms around his neck. He lifted her slightly, swinging her so that she was no longer off to his side.

"It's been a long time since I've had a hug this good," he mused.

Lana grimaced unseen. He was holding her just too tight, her ribs creaking uncomfortably in her chest. Maybe he was just out of practice, she mused, since he'd said it had been a long time. Or he wasn't used to hugging little girls. She closed her eyes and breathed in, enjoying the scent of his cologne. It wasn't the same her Bobby had always worn, but it was similar enough that she could imagine that it was her father holding her now. That illusion was furthered as Lana felt her body being lifted again and being laid down on the bed.

The pillow was cool against her cheek and smelled of laundry soap. She reached further into her mind, imagining that she was years younger and had fallen asleep while they listened to the radio or watched TV. Instead of waking her, Bobby carried her upstairs and he and Sara put her to bed, each giving her a kiss goodnight before leaving the room. They would leave the door open a crack so the light from the hallway gave her a nightlight, something she vehemently denied needing but appreciated none-the-less.

Lost in her daydream memories, she wasn't aware of when he laid down next to her. She did feel his hand touching her hair, just like her family did, and she smiled slightly. It was followed by a kiss on her cheek, which she sighed into.

That was when it changed; the touch of his hands became more urgent and invasive, one palm starting at her ankle and running up her leg and under her skirt. She struggled to sit up, pushing the hand away.

"What are you doing?"

"Come on, girl, you know the drill here."

"The drill?" She shook her head in confusion, tears welling up in her eyes as she continued pushing insistent hands away from her body. "Stop it!"

He did for a moment, backing up slightly to sit on the bed. He cocked one eyebrow as Lana gathered herself and back as far away as she could, her back pressed against the headboard as she wrapped her arms around her knees. "You really don't know, do you?"

She wiped her face with the back of her hand and shook her head. "Don't know what?"

"Perfect, just perfect," he chuckled and rolled his eyes slightly. With no warning, he reached out and dragged her back towards him, ignoring her struggles. He finally reached behind her and grasped both of her wrists in his larger hand and bending her back-wards into a position guaranteed to quell her movements.

"Stop it!" She shook her head, unable to believe this was happening. The man had been so nice to her! "Johnny!" she tried calling, looking towards the door and expecting hi to come bursting in to the rescue.

He never did.

What felt like a lifetime of pain later, the man finished and stood next to the bed, looking down at the still crying Lana. He shrugged into his jacket and then stopped down next to the bed, pressing a kiss onto Lana's forehead. She flinched away from the paternal touch. "You were great, little darlin'," he murmured before leaving the room, dropping a small wad of cash onto the top of the dresser.

Lana curled herself into a tighter ball, tears still streaming down her face unabated. It was long minutes later that she finally started to calm down, uncurling to go over to where her schoolbooks were. The money he had left lay on one of the notebooks and she reached out, fingering it silently. It was $20, mostly singles with a five thrown in. She had just dropped the bills onto the floor when the door opened. She turned and looked, automatically backing up before she registered Johnny in the doorway. "Johnny, why didn't you come before? I called and called for you!"

Anything else she might have said was broken off as Johnny stepped forward, his dark face stern instead of smiling.

"Johnny?"

She gave a startled scream as he reached out and grabbed her upper arm, his fingers digging into her skin.

"You said you'd be good."

"I was!" she protested, wincing in pain. "But then he started touching me!"

"What did you really think was going to happen? Of course he touched you!" Johnny shook her.

"Johnny, you never said anything about…" she hesitated, looking around before lowering her voice: "sex. I'm just a little girl!"

"You're old enough to get a job, old enough to want money. Old enough to make money."

"But no one would hire me but you!"

"You ever wonder why that is, small fry?"

Lana shook her head and struggled, slipping out of his grasp and rubbing the crescent shapes highlighted in white left from his nails. She quickly gathered her belongings, slinging her bag onto her shoulder. "I can't stay here," she muttered, trying to shoulder her way by him.

"What game do you think you're playing, small fry?" Instead of a nickname of affection, the term was coated in derision and disgust. He grabbed her again, swinging her around and propelling her back onto the bed. She landed with a quiet oomph, her bag landing squarely on her back. "You think I hired you for a job I didn't need you to do… to be nice?"

She turned over, staring up at him as she shifted uncomfortably on the uneven surface of her bag beneath her. Scrambling backwards as he moved forward, she watched him with wide eyes.

"You think I spent all that money on this room just so you can walk out?"

"Johnny, I don't understand."

"You don't have to," he shook his head. He stepped closer and grabbed her arm again, the pressure worse than before. He jerked her against the weight of the bag and the friction of her being on the bed and she felt pain blossoming through her arm, tears once more falling down her already tear-stained face. She wouldn't scream, she decided then and there. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

He pulled her up, ignoring the gasps of pain, and put his face close to hers. "You got that, small fry? You do what you have to, to survive… and that means you listen to me."

Just wanting him to let go and leave her alone, she nodded. He did let her go, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple bills, dropping them onto the bed beside her. On his way out the door, he turned and smiled the same smile Lana had always thought was so great. "Congratulations, small fry. You just joined the oldest profession in the world."

In pain, suffering from shock, and ashamed, Lana looked at the money for a long minute before dropping it onto the floor and leaving it without a backward glance.

The trip home was painful, the bus ride and crush of people jostling her arm nonstop. To her surprise, Chandrelle was waiting for her at the bus stop, her own face streaked with tears. Announcing that she was pregnant, Chandrelle broke down and the two girls sat together under a tree as Chandrelle regaled her with years worth of sexual abuse and admitted that she had recently started experimenting with drugs.

It was a secret that not even Lana had known.

It was amazing, but it got Lana's mind off her own problems, problems that returned as soon as she returned home. Her younger siblings ran through the house and caused Lana to back against the door, the girl letting out a small scream as her arm connected with the frame. Sarah immediately came over, fussing over her baby girl getting injured and taking her to the hospital where they pronounced it broken.

It was a sad wake-up for Lana as she saw just what she'd let herself into.

The following days were spent close to home, Lana not even going to school. Chandrelle had come by after with assignments and she stayed at the Hawkins' for as long as possible each day, dreading going home. She and Lana talked, the bedroom door shut against eavesdropping ears. Chandrelle alternately fanatically reliving childhood dreams of motherhood and hating the baby she carried… and Lana finally, slowly admitting what had happened to her. The news had sent Chandrelle off into a rant, blistering curses coming out of her mouth as she paced back and forth, back and forth over the carpeted flooring of Lana's bedroom.

Finally, she settled down, curling up on the bed and holding a pillow to her.

"Men are pigs," she proclaimed.

Lana shook her head. "Not all men," she responded softly. "I just… I don't know what Lana's going to do, Chandrelle!"

Chandrelle rolled her eyes, having slowly gotten used to her friend's new habit of addressing herself in the third person. "What are your choices, Lana? Really? Telling your mama?"

Lana shook her head in vehement disapproval of that idea. "I can't!" What Lana had let herself in for would just kill Sarah Hawkins. The mother would wonder when she'd let her daughter down, what she could've done to protect Lana better… She might even go and try and see Johnny! Lana shuddered at the idea. She'd thought Johnny liked her, and he'd broken Lana's arm. She really didn't want to see what he'd do to someone he didn't know.

"Go to the police? They'll just tell her anyway." Chandrelle shook her head. "Is the money good at least?"

"Chandrelle!" Lana's outraged voice was slightly choked with laughter at her friend's mercenary response.

Chandrelle shook her head. "At least you get paid, Lana."

Lana shifted uncomfortably. Given what she knew Chandrelle went through at home, she felt bad about making such a big deal out of what had happened to her… But it _was_ traumatic for the girl! Her best friend's life didn't change that. Did it?

Chandrelle grinned suddenly. "You know what?"

"What?" Lana's voice was full of wariness. Whenever Chandrelle got that particular sunny sound in her voice and her eyes lit up like that, both girls ended up in trouble.

"You need to introduce me to Johnny."

"What?" Lana shook her head, unsure if she'd heard her best friend right.

"You need to introduce me to Johnny," she repeated. "He's probably always looking for more girls."

Lana shook her head in incomprehension. Chandrelle _wanted_ to become a girl of Johnny's? Why? Lana sure didn't!

"Lana, you won't be alone," she explained quietly.

"Nononono," she shook her head. "You're not putting anything onto me."

"Lana, listen. I need the money, okay? My allowance won't be cutting it for much longer."

"But Chandrelle!"

Chandrelle shook her head sadly. "Seriously, Lana, think about it. What's the difference between me having sex with some guy I don't know… and my stepfather making me have sex? At least through Johnny, I'll get paid, right?"

When Lana said nothing, merely shaking her head, Chandrelle stretched out on the bed, patting Lana's leg. "Please?"

Lana finally agreed, feeling guilty at getting her best friend into the same situation she'd accidentally gotten herself into.

In no time at all, Sarah Hawkins was home, calling up the stairs to the girls. Chandrelle jumped off the bed and flashed a grin at Lana. "Don't worry. We'll take care of each other," she promised before running downstairs.

Lana followed more slowly, shaking her head. "Why do I think it won't be as easy as that?"

The quietly asked question echoed briefly in the room as Lana put on the mask that she'd been using around her family for the last few days. She couldn't let them see what had become of her. It wouldn't be good for anyone.

**The End**

**As always... reviews are welcome!**

One last shout-out: Thanks to Shannon for titling this story!

**Additional** **Notes**: Some of you may think Lana was just a bit naïve for a 14 year-old in this story, especially given how world-wise she is in the show itself. Please keep in mind that this is in the late 60s/early 70s. Yes, she's still an urban child, but life was a whole lot simpler then. On top of that, a large part of her persona on the show stems from her personal history – history that's still in 14 year-old Lana's future. Lana never said exactly how she got into prostituting, just that she did because no one else would hire her. Personally, I don't think a 14 year-old Lana would have just jumped into it. She would've been drawn into it slowly… until she couldn't get out. Chandrelle, Sarah, Bobby, Aunt Irene, and Lana's siblings are my own creations.

Canon History (according to Lana on the show): father died at 14, couldn't get a 'real' job since she's too young - went to turning tricks. 1st year: pimp broke her arm, contracted an STD, and best friend gave birth to a crack baby.


End file.
